STARS, DINNA PEEP IN.

Bright stars, dinna peep in,
To see me wi' Mary,

An' O thou bright an' bonnie moon,

Don't at her window tarry.

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

I've no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake,
Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake,

Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my tree-
Yet the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

Soft tapping at eve to her window I came,

And loud bayed the watch dog, loud scolded the dame. For shame, silly Lightfoot, what is it to thee,

Though the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me?

Rich Owen will tell

you

with eyes

full of scorn,

Threadbare is my coat, and my hosen are torn :

Scoff on, my rich Owen, for faint is thy glee
When the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

The farmer rides proudly to market and fair,

And the clerk at the alehouse still claims the great

chair;

But of all our proud fellows the proudest I'll be, While the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

For blithe as the urchin at holiday play,
And meek as the matron in mantle of gray,
And trim as the lady of noble degree

Is the maid of Llanwellyn who smiles upon me.

THE GALLANT AULD CARLE

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

A gallant auld carle a-courting came,

And ask'd with a cough, was the heiress at hame;
He was shaven smooth, with love-knots in his shoon,
And his breath was as cauld as the Hallowmass moon:
He has twa top-coats on, and a gray plaid;

Be kind to him, maiden, he's weel arrayed;
His lairdship lies by the kirk-yard dyke,
For he'll be rotten ere I be ripe.

The carle came ben with a groan and a cough,
And I was sae wilful and wicked as laugh:
He spoke of his lands, and his horses, and kye,
They were worth nae mair than a blink of my eye;
He spake of his gold-his locks, as he spake,
From the gray did grow to the glossy black:
And I scarce.could say to the carle's gripe,
I doubt ye'll be rotten ere I be ripe.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.

A chieftain, to the highlands bound,
Cries, Boatman, do not tarry,
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry.
And who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?

Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this lord Ullin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together;
For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.
His horsemen hard behind us ride-
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?

And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;

So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row ye o'er the ferry.

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark as they were speaking:
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

O haste thee, haste! the lady cries:
Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her;

When oh, too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her!

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing.

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was chang'd to wailing: For sore dismayed thro' storm and shade His child he did discover;